


Nothing Personal: Just a Strip Search

by Harlanhardway (Target44)



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Dom/sub Undertones, Feelings, Fluff, Lack of Communication, Light BDSM, Lingerie, M/M, everyone's onboard with it but still, i'm not lying to you about the fluff either, the fluff is real, way more feelings than you were expecting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 14:42:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14771618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Target44/pseuds/Harlanhardway
Summary: Bane runs a private security company.  John wants an in-person interview with one of his clients.  No one, not even a Police Lieutenant, is exempt from Bane's security screening protocols.





	Nothing Personal: Just a Strip Search

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oceaxe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceaxe/gifts).



> Prompt: [oceanxereturns](http://oceaxereturns.tumblr.com/) Bane is stalking John and sees him undressing. John is wearing lace underwear. He soon starts receiving gifts of lace underthings and surprise visits from bane ordering him to strip. but they never do anything, Bane just wants to see him wearing his presents. Until one day, John demands more than a visual inspection...
> 
> So, I kinda strayed from the prompt. It sort of fits but also kind of not, if I'm being totally honest. I was musing about how this scenario could be made to work in a non-superhero context and then I got this idea and... here we are now. I hope it still fits the bill enough that you like it!
> 
> Special thanks to my lovely beta reader [mothdustmouth](http://mothdustmouth.tumblr.com/) who convinced me to do this exchange and then was an amazing cheerleader every step of the way!

  
  
There were some parts of Bane's job that he probably enjoyed a little more than he should, running background checks, for instance.  
  
Running background checks was like playing the slot machines.  99.9% of the time the results were boring, but it only took one good payout to make it all worthwhile, because .1% of the time, the payout was porn.  Bad porn.  The kind of porn with cellulite and stretch marks and underwear lines.  The kind of porn Bane liked.  
  
He used to like nice porn.  The kind where everyone was young and fit, with a big dick and a waxed asshole, the lighting was always good and everything was always all the way in focus.  Nice porn had helped him make peace with a lot of things: Don't Ask Don't Tell, big oil, Abu Ghraib, Dick Cheney, and every douchebag who had ever watched "Fahrenheit 9/11" and felt the need to tell him their opinion on it.  But then he had taken a half a pound of shrapnel to the face and gotten his leg mostly crushed under a rolled humvee and suddenly nice porn just didn't do it for him anymore.  
  
Now he ran a private security company, protecting anyone who was rich enough to pay him and enough of an asshole to have reason to fear for their life.  He was six foot four and solid all the way across, with a titanium rod in his leg and an extremely unpleasant smile.  His appearance alone commanded fear and respect.  When he walked down the street, people crossed to the other side.  It was useful, valuable to his line of work and something he cultivated, but it left him with little patience for watching two pretty people with heavy makeup and tribal tattoos, slamming into each other under studio lighting.  
  
He had recently been hired to run security for Jean-Paul Valley Jr., a man wanted for crimes in three states and currently being held under house arrest while it was being decided which criminal proceeding would take precedence.  Bane did not think Mr. Valley would be remaining in Chicago for much longer, the case having become too graphic and too sensationalized for an impartial jury to possibly be found in the area.  Jean-Paul Valley Jr. would likely be going to trail in Texas, he would likely be convicted, and Bane would sleep well at night knowing that a psychopath vigilante would be spending the rest of his life on death row waiting for a call from the governor that would never come.  
  
But until then, it was Bane's job to made sure the man stayed alive long enough to make it to trial.  Therefore, it was his responsibility to run background checks and security screenings on all visitors, including the Chicago Police Lieutenant who had recently requested an interview and to whom Jean-Paul Valley Jr. had granted five.  
  
This particular Police Lieutenant just happened to be among the .1% of people who's background check included porn.  
  
Though, maybe porn was too strong of a word for it.  Bane clicked through the photos.  They showed a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen, with dark brown hair slicked back in an undercut, smirking into the camera with nothing on but a pair of lacy women's underpants and some very nice high heels.  There was a name attached, Robin Blake, as well as a street address.  Bane pulled up Lieutenant John Blake's current ID photograph and compared it.  He was much older now, in his early thirties, but it was definitely him.  
  
Bane clicked back to the other photos.  They were quite flattering, really.  Blake was smiling and laughing into the camera, looking relaxed and open, unselfaware in a way that Bane had always found particularly appealing.  He was wearing seafoam green panties and a matching garter belt with pastel pink stays holding up thigh-high stockings that complimented the paleness of his skin.  His legs were muscular, slender and smoothly shaved.  The effect was very feminine.  But, despite the underwear and floral print platform stilettos, there was nothing particularly coy or submissive about how he presented himself.  He didn't preen or mug the camera.  It seemed unlikely that these photos had ever been intended for public consumption, which might explain why Lieutenant Robin John Blake had abruptly started going by his middle name sometime in 2007.  This was the kind of thing that tended to have a long shelf-life on the internet.  
  
It must have felt like a very big deal at the time, for a kid living on the south side of Chicago to suddenly have pictures of himself in women's underwear posted all over the internet.  Pre-Obama, pre-marriage equality, pre-It-Gets-Better, it had probably seemed like the end of the fucking world.  
  
But that had been a long time ago.  
  
Bane closed the window and started typing up his report.  Whatever trouble those pictures had caused for Lieutenant Blake was long in the past and bore no relevance to his current security clearance.    
  
~~~~~  
  
Jean-Paul Valley was being held under house arrest in a suite at the Hyatt just outside of downtown.  The security team had an adjoining suite for staging.  
  
On Saturday Bane had been informed that Jean-Paul Valley was going to be arraigned in Houston the following week.  Bane's security team would be responsible for getting him to the airport on Saturday and arrange for his transfer into Texas State custody upon arrival in Houston.  
  
In the meantime, Mr. Valley had confirmed his desire to move forward with the five interviews promised to Lieutenant Blake and so, Monday afternoon, at exactly four p.m. on the dot, John Blake arrived in a boring blue suit and drab tie, carrying a laptop bag and a box of files.  
  
He had a pleasant smile and a slightly nasally drawl, the kind actors try to imitate on T.V. when they want to sound "authentic" and "working class," to the point where, in real life, it sometimes almost came across as an affectation.  Except that no one could really fake that terrible cop haircut and those scuffed-up leather shoes with the sensible rubber soles and extra arch support.  Everything about Lieutenant John Blake was either boring, harmless or forgettable.  He was probably excellent at his job.  
  
Bane wondered if he still shaved his legs.  
  
"Lieutenant Blake," the man introduced himself, presenting his ID to Bane's point-man, Barsad.  "I was in communication with your security team over the weekend and all of my materials should comply with your requirements.  Everything I need is in the box, but I bought a laptop that I understand I can leave out here with you."  He put down his box of files and unslung the laptop bag from over his shoulders.  
  
Barsad didn't even glance at the ID, instead comparing John's face to a photo from their records and pulling out a sheaf of paperwork from a pile on his desk.  "We will have to go through it all anyways."  
  
"Got to do your due diligence, I understand."  
  
"Please sign here to authorized our inspection of city property."  
  
Lieutenant Blake skimmed the paper that Barsad held out to him, then signed where indicated.  
  
Bane was watching where he stood by the door to the adjoining suite, where the interview would be conducted.  He liked letting his team do their job.  They were good at it.  Barsad had a pleasant face and knew how to put people at ease.  He was the kind of man that was good to have out front, people trusted him, especially when Bane lurked in the background as a silent threat.  
  
Barsad flipped to a second form.  "And sign here to consent to the strip search."  
  
"Excuse me?"  Lieutenant Blake's head shot up as Barsad set the paper in front of him.  "The what?"  
  
Barsad tapped the paper.  "Please sign here to consent to the strip search."  
  
"I was not informed of a strip search."  
  
"Yes.  That is why it is a strip search and not a cavity search."  
  
"Are you fuckin--"  
  
"If you do not consent to the search, you may conduct your interview from here, through our secured internal network."  
  
"Jesus.  You guys don't fuck around.  Just, give me a minute."  Lieutenant Blake squinted at the paper, reading through it much more carefully than he had the previous document.  He had very dark eyelashes, Bane noticed, so that even though he face was tanned from the sun, his eyes stood out, the brown of them turning almost black when he squinted.  It looked like he squinted a lot.  There were deep crows feet in the corners of his eyes and no tan lines on his temples, like there would be if he wore sunglasses a lot.  Sunglasses made people less approachable and Lieutenant Blake had started his career in youth outreach.  Bane was willing to bet that he had theories about the importance of looking people in the eye.  
  
The form was short and straight forward and it didn't take long for Blake to read through it, even if he did take an extra few seconds to scan it a second time.  "Alright."  He picked up the pen again and signed his name.  "I'll consent to the search, but I can't be separated from the evidence files so some lucky sucker's going to have to follow me around with them until everything's been cleared."  
  
Barsad glanced over at Bane, who nodded.  
  
Bane came over to collecte Blake's laptop bag and file box, following the two of them into the bedroom, which was being used mostly for surveillance and dispatch.  Despite the blinds being drawn, the room was lit up like a dentist's office, no sense in working somewhere a person couldn't see properly.  Bane dismissed the man who had been on watch, monitoring the cameras, and set Blake's things down on the folding table that had been put there for staging so that he could start going through it.  
  
The door clicked closed behind the departing security agent and Barsad began the strip search.  "Please undress and put your clothes in the bin."  
  
Strip searches were awkward for everyone involved, especially unexpected strip searches.  The kinds of things people had on under their clothes never failed to surprise, which, harmless or not, only further emphasized the necessity of doing a strip search in the first place.  Sometimes the people themselves had no idea what had inadvertently gotten caught in their pant leg as they struggled into their clothes that morning.  Women were the worst, especially ones without a handbag, they could have any number of things stashed all over their person simply out of habit and for lack of pockets.  
  
Bane did a quick search of the laptop bag, removing the electronics and running a metal detector over the rest, swiping the inside with a sterile sheet and testing it for traces of explosives.  He glanced up while he waited for the results to clear.  
  
Lieutenant Blake was quite fit for a man who had been working a desk job for the past four years.  He was lean but with more upper-body muscle definition than the width of his shoulders had initially implied.  Bane watched his forearms flex as he unbuckle his belt and then the twist and shift of muscles across his ribs as he pulled it out of his belt loops and placed it in the box with the rest of his clothes.  
  
Blake had just enough body fat to keep his face soft and his abs mostly undefined.  He was five foot eleven and maybe one-hundred and fifty pounds, with carefully combed brown hair, a soft belly and clean fingernails: the picture of unassuming and unintimidating.  But not to be underestimated.  Bane tracked the movement of the muscles across his back, the loose roll of his shoulders, there was strength there, strength without bulk.  He would have bet anything that Lieutenant Blake was an excellent runner, an excellent shot, and knew exactly how to garner attention and command respect when he needed it.  
  
The ETD machine beeped, coming up negative for trace explosives, and Bane repacked the laptop bag and set it aside, keeping half an eye on John Blake.  He could admit to himself that his interest was slightly more than strictly professional.  He found the man attractive.  Bane liked how bland and forgettable he was, how friendly.  How nice.  Blake smiled and made small talk like there wasn't a scar from an old gunshot exit wound over his right kidney, like he hadn't walked all the way around to the other side of the bed before stripping, putting the window, the door, and both occupants of the room within his line of sight.  
  
It made Bane wonder about the photographs and if Lieutenant Blake still wore women's underwear sometimes.  He could be wearing some now.  It was possible, people got up to all kinds of things under their clothes.  
  
Blake dropped his trousers and Bane almost had to bite back a laugh.  
  
He didn't, but his face must have reacted in some way because he looked up to see Barsad raising an eyebrow at him from across the room.  He shrugged minutely and shook his head, turning his attention back to inspecting Lieutenant Blake's box of files.  Barsad would forgive his minor lapse in professionalism and Blake hadn't appeared to have noticed.  He probably wouldn't have been too terribly offended even if he had, it was a little funny, but nothing particularly shocking or interesting.  
  
Bane really should have learned by now: there was never anything remotely titillating about a strip search.  They were awkward, uncomfortable, and just about as sexy as a public restroom, best got through quickly and not employed more than absolutely necessary.  
  
While it did happen, on very rare occasion, that someone was hiding some sort of novelty underwear or fetish gear under their clothes, as a general rule the embarrassing reveal tended to be much more mundane and John Blake proved no exception.  His ratty Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs were faded and grey.  The elastic was all stretched-out and some of the seams were starting to come undone.  He had hairy legs that had clearly not been shaved anytime recently and he wore a lightweight knee brace on his right leg.  He looked downright shabby, but did not seem particularly embarrassed or apologetic about it.  
  
Lieutenant John Blake was dressed like an unassuming paper-pusher all the way down to his skin and it made Bane laugh to think that he had, even for a moment, expected anything different.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The rest of the security screening went off without incident.  Lieutenant Blake was escorted in to see Mr. Valley and reemerged an hour later, just after five, to collect his laptop and cell phone.  He had gotten permission to use the hotel business center and informed them that he would be spending the next few hours there while he waited for rush hour traffic to die down.  So it was no great surprise when Bane saw him, still in the hotel, when he got off-shift a few hours later.  
  
Lieutenant Blake was just leaving the business center when Bane caught sight of him in the main lobby.  He followed him through the back of the hotel towards the parking lot, not making any particular effort to catch up.  
  
They emerged, one after another, into the oppressive heat, Bane a dozen steps behind.  The sun was just starting to go down and Lieutenant Blake's shadow stretched out like an oil spill behind him as he walked towards his car.  Bane got out his sunglasses to stop himself from having to squint into the sun, then smiled to himself when he saw that Blake did not.  They must have parked close to each other.  After a while, Blake casually started to shift his bags around, tucking his file box awkwardly under his left arm and letting his right arm swing freely at his side.  He made it look natural, even though it was most likely awkward and uncomfortable.  Blake was unarmed and Bane wondered, if pressed, what Blake would go for first, his cell phone or his keys.  
  
There was a powder-blue 1970s Buick Skylark parked next to Bane's 4x4 and as they approached it, Bane could see Lieutenant Blake's hand twitch as he weighed his options: the keys or the cell phone.  
  
Then, deciding that his curiosity was not worth the repercussions of potentially having a Chicago Police Lieutenant call for backup on him, Bane dug his own keys out of his pocket and pressed the remote unlock button.  His truck beeped in response just as Blake turned to face him.  
  
He visibly relaxed when he recognized Bane, putting his box of files down on the hood of his car and laughing ruefully as he ran a hand through his hair.  "Jesus Christ, you freaked me out for a second there."  
  
Bane was not surprised.  That was the reaction most people had to him.  
  
Bane twisted his face into a smile, not bothering to try and make it reach his eyes.  He could feel the scars pull tight.  It was not an accident that he had chosen a career path where being physically menacing was considered an advantage.  He knew what he looked like and leaning into it had become something of a habit.  He always made people nervous, but it felt better when it was deliberate.  
  
Blake seemed to not notice Bane's looming.  He pulled out his keys and unlocked the driver's side door of his car, stashing his files in the back seat before turning back to Bane and holding out his hand, still smiling with his eyebrows quirked self-deprecating.  "Lieutenant John Blake," he introduced himself.  "I swear I don't always jump at shadows, but empty parking lots get me every time.  You're with Darkwater Security, right?  You guys run a pretty tight ship."  
  
Bane considered him for half a second, then took the offerened hand.  "Nice to meet you Lieutenant Blake."  His grip was strong and his hand calloused, but surprisingly small.  His wrists felt very narrow.  "Bane.  Darkwater Security, Head of Operations."  
  
"You must be the one I've been trading emails with.  Please, call me John."  John released his hand, taking half a step back and tilting his head up to openly study him.  "I'm starting to see how your team got such a great reputation."  
  
Staring back from behind his sunglasses, Bane kept his face impassive.  
  
After a second, John snorted, leaning against the side of his car and shooting him another crooked smile.  "You must have come out of the womb destined to be a badass.  I bet even Superman avoids you in dark alleys."  
  
John had dimples and his eyes were squinted slightly, despite having his back to the sun.  He smiled with his whole face.  His carefully gelled hair was slightly disheveled from having run his hand through it and there was a beat-up White Sox hat on his dashboard.  He looked like exactly what he was: an off-duty cop trying to form a friendly rapport with a coworker, and Bane, not even fully registering what he was doing, he found himself wanting to banter back.  "I wasn't born with it.  It must be the Maybelline."  
  
John looked surprised for a second, then threw his head back and laughed.  "Touche.  I should definitely invest in some Maybelline."  Loosening his tie and taking off his jacket, John started rolling up his sleeves while he talked.  "I think the last time someone found me intimidating, I was doing a ride-along in a tank."  
  
"You seem to do well playing to your own strengths."  
  
"I suppose."  John looked up at him again, tapping his fingers against the hood of his car and still smiling slightly.  "I guess I'll see you tomorrow then, Bane."  
  
Bane nodded and stepped back as John got into his car.  
  
He put on his White Sox hat and settled into the driver's seat.  "Have a good one."  John waved out the open window as he pulled away.  
  
~~~~~  
  
John was back the next day with his same laptop bag and file box.  His suit was grey instead of blue and his tie a slightly different shade of boring.  The security screening when smoothly, revealing nothing more interesting than a pair of Calvin Klein briefs that looked like they had been purchased at some point in the late nineties and worn every day since.  John was either in desperate need of new underwear, or had been putting off laundry day for much too long.  Either way the strip search did not seem to have motivated him to change his habits.  
  
After the interview he went down to the business center to wait out traffic, re-emerging into the lobby just after seven, like he had done the day before.  
  
Bane ended up behind him again, following him out to the parking lot, and John stopped and waited for him to catch up.  "Good day at the office?"  
  
Bane watched him out of the corner of his eye as they fell into step.  "Uneventful."  
  
John nodded.  "Uneventful is good."  
  
They made their way out of the hotel and towards the back of the parking lot in silence.  Lieutenant Blake had parked next to Bane's truck again.  
  
"Next to you seemed like a pretty safe place to be."  Blake explained, nodding towards his car.  "I try not to be too paranoid, but I do kind of hate it when people mess with my car."  
  
Bane grunted in acknowledgment, he'd never owned a classic car and never had any particular desire to, but he could understand the urge to protect what was his.  
  
"Besides," John continued, "if you have a policy of enforcing strip searches on police officers, I can only imagine what kind of security measures you have on your truck.  God help anyone who ever tries to steal your stereo."  
  
Bane bristled.  He wasn't even sure why Lieutenant Blake was talking to him.  If the man disliked being followed, he could have just left ten minutes earlier and avoided the whole thing.  "It's not a policy against police officers, Lieutenant Blake, it is a policy against unverified persons of any kind.  I prefer to avoid relying on second-hand information."  
  
"Clearly."  They had reached the Blake's skylark and he juggled his files around in his arms to dig out his keys, then dumped the box in the back seat along with his laptop bag and jacket as soon as he got the door open.  "I was just glad we hadn't ramped up to a cavity search.  I consider myself pretty dedicated to my job, but I'm pretty sure that would have made even me think twice."  His voice was muffled, coming from inside the car, and he seemed to be talking mostly to himself.  
  
Straightening up, he turned to face Bane directly again.  His face was relaxed and open, his hair backlit by the sun.  He had one arm slung over the roof of his car and he was leaning very slightly on his elbow.  Bane had to squint to look at him, he resisted the urge to shade his eyes.  
  
"Look, I get it," he said, meeting Bane's eyes.  "You've got your job to do and I've got mine.  I'm sure you've uncovered way more bizzare things in your time than the sad state of my underwear, so let's not make it any weirder than it has to be."  
  
Bane stared back at John.  He liked him.  He liked how he was standing, open and casual, but balanced over both feet and with his gear already packed away and his keys in the ignition, ready to go.  He liked how calm he was, how he gave Bane his complete attention, like talking to him was as important as landing an airplane or coordinating an air strike or both.  
  
John started unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, completely unflappable.  It made Bane want to say something to throw him off, just to see if it could be done.  
  
"Perhaps."  He said, slowly raising an eyebrow.  "But after your background check, I was a bit surprised."  
  
It took John a second to understand, but when he did, the realization poured over his face all at once, making him look suddenly extremely tired.  He sighed and turned away slightly, not bothering to look Bane in the eyes anymore.  "Wonderful.  Nothing dies on the internet."  
  
Bane could feel himself being actively written off and found that he did not like it.  He said the first thing that came into his mind.  "I was disappointed."  
  
It wasn't a great start, but John was looking at him again, expecting to be insulted, but looking at him all the same.  
  
"Yesterday," Bane continued, trying for amiable and probably coming off closer to deadpan, "you couldn't have known.  But today I was expecting at least a Snickers bar down the back of your shorts, just to fuck with us."  
  
John gave him something of a disbelieving look, then snorted, rubbing a hand over his face and trying to bite back a smile.  
  
Bane felt the scars tighten over his face.  "I have never seen anything break Barsad's professionalism, but if you showed up tomorrow wearing lacy underwear, that just might do it."  
  
John shook his head, but his eyes were bright and he was laughing.  He squinted up at Bane again.  "When I first joined the force, I got all sorts of shit about those photos.  People used to post copies of them over the urinals in the station bathroom and stuff novelty underwear in my locker.  It's been years though."  
  
"No wonder you don't own any proper underwear anymore.  You must have gotten too used to everyone else buying it for you."  
  
"Yes, because tear-away thongs are exactly what I need in my life."  John had gone back to watching him closely, but this time it was less leary and more assessing.  "Or are you saying you could do better?"  
  
It was only thanks to years of combat training that Bane did not freeze up on the spot.  "I might be."  He answered, weighing his words carefully.  
  
"Tell you what," John said, pushing away from his car and getting ready to leave.  "If you can find something so outrageous that I genuinely think wearing it might give you friend a conniption, l'll do it."  
  
"Is that a promise or a threat?"  
  
"Both, I guess."  He looked at Bane for a second longer, then winked and got into his car.  "I'll see you tomorrow then, Bane."  
  
"See you tomorrow."  Bane watched him drive away.  
  
It took Bane half an hour to drive home, forty-five minutes to find something appropriate on Amazon, and then another fifteen to try and guess what John's size might be in women's panties.  He had John's home address from running his background check and paid extra for same-day delivery.  
  
Staring at himself in the mirror while he brushed his teeth, Bane tried to trace back the series of events that had led to him buying women's underwear for a cop he had just met to wear while someone else strip-searched him.  Bane was fairly certain that this was considered some form of flirting.  He certainly hoped it was.  Otherwise he had just spent entirely too much money on a very strange practical joke that Barsad was unlikely to find funny.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Bane was not sure what it meant when John dropped his pants the next day to reveal the world's oldest pair of blue-plaid Hanes boxer shorts.  He tried not to read too much into it, but was very much relieved to see John waiting for him in the lobby when he got off work a few hours later.  
  
They walked down the hallway together, John making polite small talk and Bane mostly just nodding in acknowledgment.  Then, as soon as the door leading out to the rear parking lot closed behind them, John turned to him with a full shit-eating grin.  "Full points for outrageous.  I didn't even know you could get velvet in leopard print."  
  
Bane lifted an eyebrow cooly, fighting to keep his expression bland and deadpan.  "Welcome to capitalism.  You can get anything in leopard print."  
  
"And isn't that a joy?  I was tempted to wear them today, but that big red bow over the ass ruined the line of my suit.  It looked like I was wearing a diaper."  
  
Bane had never before felt so elated to be talking about adult incontinence.  "What a shame.  Should I try again?"  
  
"I think you should.  It was an excellent first effort.  You were right on the money, I just prefer not to come into work looking like I shit myself."  
  
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind."  
  
John laughed again.  He had deep dimples when he smiled and it made Bane want to press him up against the side of his stupid blue muscle car and kiss him until one of them passed out.  It would probably be Bane, since the scarring in his face affected his ability to breathe through his nose and kissing that stupidly dimpled face would probably take precedence over breathing.  Bane was self-aware enough to admit that he had gone more than a little stupid over John and it was probably affecting both his priorities and his judgement.  Which reminded him, "I need to recuse myself from your security screenings."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"Starting tomorrow, I will be removing myself from direct involvement in your security screenings.  Someone else on my team will take over searching your bags."  
  
John nodded.  "Good.  Thanks for letting me know."  He didn't ask why, it went without saying.  
  
They walked the rest of the way in a reasonably comfortable silence, Bane mulling over the fact that he had just admitted to having formed enough of an attachment towards John as to constitute a conflict of interest and John lost in thought, smiling to himself and looking satisfied.  
  
John loaded his laptop and box of files into his car and took off his jacket, then, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his shirtsleeves, he turned back towards Bane.  "So, what's your name anyways?"  He asked.  
  
Bane raised his eyebrows, or at least tried to.  Bane had a lot of nerve problems on the left side of his face and could never quite be sure if that eyebrow was cooperating or not.  Either way, his message seemed to get across because John raised his eyebrows right back.  
  
"You have seen me naked three times and are having underwear special delivered to my house, give me your fucking full name, _Bane_."  
  
Bane supposed he did have a point.  "Dorrance."  He scratched at the scar that cut across his lower jaw, bisecting his bottom lip, the one that gave him what looked like a permanent scowl.  "Dorrance Alexander Bane."  
  
"But you prefer to go by Bane?"  
  
Bane gave him a dry look.  "Yes."  
  
John shrugged.  "Bane it is then.  You're not the only person who doesn't go by their first name anymore."  He smiled again.  
  
Later that night, Bane found a lacy camo thong that offered same-day shipping.  There was no way it would fit John properly and he wasn't entirely sure he actually wanted him to wear it even if it did, especially since he wouldn't get to see the results, but he ordered it anyways.  
  
~~~~~  
  
The next day was Thursday and Bane was in agony over whether John had worn the underwear or not.  Barsad had come out of the security screening entirely unphased, but that meant nothing, Barsad would have come out of a live-fire gunfight unphased.  There was no good way of knowing and no good way of asking about it either, so Bane was left to sweat and wonder until the end of his workday, when he met up with John in the parking lot again and was finally put out of his misery.  
  
"The camo was a nice touch, but thongs give me pimples on my ass and it did not come close to fitting.  If you think I am that small, you have got another thing coming.  I know I'm only about half of you, but come on, I'm not twig."  
  
Bane eyed John's waistline deliberately, following the cut of his suit and the way it fit over his very nicely proportioned backside.  The quality of the suit was not nearly good enough to do his form justice and, if the previous three days had been any indication, the quality of the underwear was probably worse.  It was a crying shame.  
  
He could feel John notice him looking, but didn't turn away.  "No, you are definitely not a twig.  I will try to do better next time."  
  
John snorted and rolled his eyes.  "Alright, eyes up front.  I don’t need tailor-made underwear so stop trying to take my measurements."  
  
"If you say so, John."    
  
They fell into silence for a few paces, before Bane forced himself to speak up again.  If this was, indeed, flirting, then it seemed important that he prove himself capable of at least occasionally initiating a conversation.  "What are you doing here?"  
  
The question came out gruffer than intended, sounding almost like an accusation, but John just glanced over mildly and raised an eyebrow.  "How do you mean?"  
  
Bane tried again.  "Why are you interviewing Jean-Paul Valley?  I didn't think you were attached to his case."  
  
"Oh.  I'm not.  I can't really disclose much but, hmmm... it's fairly public knowledge that he was something of a vigilante and, let's just say, it's less that I'm attached to his case and more that I'm taking over his caseload."  
  
Bane narrowed his eyes.  "You approve of what he was doing?"  
  
John snorted.  "Of course not.  As far as I'm concerned, he's a domestic terrorist.  I hope they lock him up and throw away the key."  
  
"But you are working with him."  
  
John paused to think, his brow wrinkling as he composed his thoughts.  They had reached his car and he handed over his box of files for Bane to hold while he unlocked it, then loaded everything in the back seat and took off his jacket, leaning against the open door frame as he began the usual process of loosening his tie and rolling up his cuffs.  
  
"Every cop is a little bit of a vigilante, I suppose," he started, feeling the words out as he spoke.  "We all have to make judgement calls.  One person gets a ticket, someone else gets a warning.  Not everything goes down exactly by the book and sometimes it's deliberate and sometimes it's not.  It's always biased though.  That's why we go to sensitivity training, because it is my job to enforce the law, not my own gut feeling about whether I like somebody or not.  
  
"And, yeah, the system's not perfect.  Sometimes I don't agree with all of the laws I enforce and sometimes it can be a real bitch to get a good conviction even when I do, but that's the point.  My job should not be easy.  Locking someone away in prison should not be easy."  
  
"Then why are you working with a man who hunted down and murdered people he thought were criminals?"  Bane pressed.  
  
"Well, most of the time he was right.  The guy was very good at research and took excellent notes." John shrugged.  "No use throwing out the baby with the bathwater."  
  
"That's awfully morally grey of you, Lieutenant Blake."  
  
John nodded in agreement and then shrugged again.  "Ignorance is relative, facts are not."  
  
"And now you know."  
  
"And knowing is half the battle."  
  
They stood there for a while, considering each other, before Bane stepped back, breaking the moment.  Then they exchanged a short goodbye and John pulled on his beat-up White Sox cap, climbed in his car and drove off.  
  
That night, abandoning all pretense of a joke, Bane ordered underwear that were black silk and lace and cost way too much money.  He spent a long time staring at the sizing chart, before ordering one size up from his best guess.  He still didn't know what he was trying to accomplish by any of this, but he knew he wanted John to like them.  Bane was currently living in a reality where the only thing he could acceptably send John without it being weird or intrusive, was women's underwear so yes, he damn well wanted John to like them.  He wanted John to like him, was maybe even a bit anxious about it, truth be told.  
  
~~~~~  
  
"You won't see me here tomorrow."  
  
"Oh?"  John looked over at Bane in surprise.  
  
It was Friday evening and they were just leaving the hotel lobby, walking down the hall towards the parking lot, like they had done all week.  Mr. Valley had agreed to meet John for a sixth interview, on Saturday, before his scheduled departure for Houston, where he would face arraignment and, most likely, trial.  He had taken to John, seemed to view him as some sort of a successor and was eager to impart as much information as possible about his unfinished casefiles.  
  
"Getting ready for the airport transfer?"  John held the door open for Bane to step out of the air-conditioned building and into the hot sun.  
  
Bane nodded.  "It will be a long day for me."  
  
"I hope you get to sleep in at least, then, have a bit of a late start?"  
  
Bane shook his head.  "No.  But my schedule's fairly light next week, I try to give the team time to recover between jobs."  
  
"Do you mostly stick to the Chicago area?  I assume this job was a bit out of the ordinary."  
  
"We've worked out of state before: Nevada, New York, Michigan, a few times overseas, but, yes, mostly Chicago."  
  
"You from here?"  
  
"Illinois, yes.  Chicago, no."  
  
"Small town boy?"  
  
Bane let his eyes drift over to where John walked beside him, juggling his overstuffed file box as he tried to untwist the strap on his laptop bag and not drop his cell phone.  He had already started to sweat through the collar of his cheap suit and the product in his hair made it look crusty and dull.  He was stupidly adorable.  Bane wanted to fuck him in the back of a car until they were both slick and filthy with sweat and spit and semen and stinking of sex and then drive out into the middle of nowhere to watch the sun go down and talk about their childhoods.  
  
Bane blinked, turning to face forwards again.  "I suppose.  Why?  Are you looking for my life story?"  
  
"I don't know, is it any good?"  
  
The conversation drifted to their everyday lives, where Bane had lived before moving to Chicago, what had brought him to the city and whether he liked it.  At some point they ended up back at the cars with John leaning against the hood of Bane's pickup, expounding on the merits of his hometown (which seemed to consist mostly of: I live here and no one talks shit about my town but me).  His car was packed and ready to go, but he showing no signs of wanting to leave.  
  
Neither of them had brought up the underwear yet and Bane was very aware of his ever narrowing time-frame for doing so.  This would probably be his last opportunity to talk to John in a non-professional capacity and he wasn't sure how to broach the subject of seeing him again.  Should he ask for a phone number?  He already had all of John's conceivable contact information from running the background check, but drawing attention to that fact seemed like a bad choice.  
  
He was about to open his mouth and awkwardly try to barrel his way through the dilemma anyways, when John made pulled out a business card and smoothly slid it across the hood of Bane’s truck.  Bane picked it up, running his thumb over John's name and the Chicago PD seal in the corner.  There was a cell phone number hand-written under the email address at the bottom.  
  
"I liked the lace, by the way."  John said, looking over at Bane with a very soft smile on his face that made Bane's stomach clench for reasons he couldn't entirely explain.  John rarely showed his teeth when he smiled.  Bane liked that.  Not that John had bad teeth, but Bane just liked how he smiled, it made his lips look full.  
  
John tilted his head to the side.  "They were nicer than the other ones.  Soft.  But next time, try one size down and," he raised an eyebrow mischievously, "I like color."  
  
That night, Bane jerked off thinking about strong forearms and narrow wrists, soft brown hair and eyes that seemed perpetually squinted against the sun, a wide, full smile and dimples, dimples for days.  He ordered four new pairs of lace panties in bright colors.  Three the same cut as before, just one size smaller and one that was scandalous low rise, but came in a very deep purple.  
  
~~~~  
  
The next day was indeed a very long day.  Bane came in at five, like he always did, was debriefed by the night shift and began running through the day's schedule with his team.  Instead of a lunch break, he made himself take an hour-long nap and then drank half a pot of coffee while going over surveillance reports and making last-minute arrangements for the custody transfer with Texas State Police.  He nodded hello to John when he came in for his final interview and then again as he left.  
  
At nineteen-hundred hours, Jean-Paul Valley was loaded into an unmarked SUV and brought to the airport, where he was escorted through security by Barsad, who would be accompanying him on the flight.  The plane took off on-schedule and Bane returned to the hotel to clear out their equipment and move it back into storage, before heading back to the office to go over paperwork and drink more coffee.  Just after two in the morning, he finally received confirmation that the transfer had been completed.  
  
Fifteen minutes later, Bane was sitting in his truck in the parking lot, staring at his phone.  
  
Everything had gone smoothly, exactly according to plan.  Barsad had already checked into his airport hotel room and would be on the first flight back to Chicago in the morning.  Jean-Paul Valley was secure in police custody.  All of his employees had signed in with nothing to report before going off duty, all of their equipment was accounted for and they had been paid.  
  
Sometimes everything going according to plan felt like shit.  After weeks of preparation, careful planning, anticipation, constant checking and rechecking and going over of every logistical angle from every conceivable direction, it all just stopped, like cruising down a highway at eighty miles an hour and crashing into a brick wall.  Some potholes along the way might have been nice, just to slow things down a bit, maybe take the edge off.  
  
He stared at his phone some more, then opened his contacts scrolled down to Lieutenant John Blake and typed out a text message.  
  
_Do they fit?_  
  
He hit send and watched the words transform into a speech bubble on his screen.  He stared at it some more.  Nothing happened.  
  
It was approaching two thirty in the morning and John was asleep.  Bane put his phone back in his pocket and turned his keys in the ignition, flicking on his headlights and pulling out of the parking lot towards home.  
  
Four blocks later, his phone vibrated against his hip with an incoming message.  Bane pulled over to the side of the road.  It was from John.  
  
**_U jsut getting off work?_**  
  
He responded immediately.  
  
_Yes, all clear -- transfer complete_  
  
There was a short pause, then his phone lit up again.  
  
**_How badly do you need to decompress?_**  
  
He thought about it for a second, not sure how honest he wanted to be, typing a few words and then deleting them again before finally settling on a gif of Bruce Banner turning into the Hulk.  Someone had messaged it to him a while ago and it seemed accurate enough to how he was feeling.  
  
He pressed send, then sat there for a few minutes, idling by the side of the road and staring at his cell phone, waiting for a response.  It took long enough that he was starting to consider the likelihood that John had fallen asleep and that maybe he should put his phone away and get back on the road.  Then another message came through: John's home address followed by instructions.  
  
**_don't ring the buzzer, text me when u get here and i'll let u in_**  
  
Bane pulled up directions on his phone, skimming through them quickly before reopened his messaging app and texting back.  
  
_ETA 30 min_  
  
~~~~~  
  
Bane wasn't entirely sure what to expect when he got to John's apartment, but John fully dressed, in a suit and tie, with his hair combed and gelled to the side, opening the door like he was headed to the office, certainly was not it.  
  
"Come on in."  John stepped back to let Bane in.  He wasn’t even in shirtsleeves.  
  
The apartment was small and a bit cluttered, just a one room, with a kitchenette off of the door and a bed hidden in the far corner behind the couch.  It was clean, but it did not look like he entertained visitors very often.  None of the furniture matched and John's preferred method of organization seemed to be a mixture cardboard law boxes and stacks of meticulously labeled storage bins.  There was a detailed street map of Chicago pinned to one wall and a desk in the corner with great big gashes take out of the top, like someone had been using it to sharpen a knife.  The bathroom door had been removed and a pull-up bar fitted into the doorframe.  A Chicago PD windbreaker hung from a coat hook in the entranceway.    
  
Bane stepped further into the apartment and John locked the door behind him, sliding the chain into place.  The room was dim and quiet and the turn of the deadbolt sounded very loud.  Bane's skin tingled with the awareness that he was now locked into a room alone with John.  That John was now locked in a room alone with him.  
  
John went over to stand by the sink, leaning against the counter and playing with the bubble wrap on the inside of a mailing envelope that had been left out.  "Can I get you anything?"  
  
"No."  
  
John picked apart the plastic some more.  "They did, by the way."  
  
Bane didn't know how to respond and after a while, when he still hadn’t replied, John looked up.  He flipped the packing envelope over and pushed it to the side.  "They fit."  
  
It was an empty amazon delivery envelope.  
  
Bane could feel his heart rate pick up and his mouth water at the spike of endorphins that hit him.  After the adrenaline crash from earlier, it was almost euphoric.  
  
"Did you wear them?"  
  
John stepped away from the counter and towards the center of the room, not looking away from Bane.  "Not to work."  
  
Bane took in a slow breath through his nose, letting his voice drop to a low growl.  "Are you wearing them now?"  
  
John smiled very slowly.  The window was open behind him, and the cold light from the moon and the soft rush of breeze through the thin curtains that failed to ruffle his harshly gelled hair or muss the straight lines of his suit, made him look almost menacing.  "Why?  Would you believe me, even if I told you?"  
  
Bane returned the smile, letting his face twist how it liked.  Whatever he had expected, coming here tonight, it hadn't been this.  This was something new.  This wasn't sensible brown oxfords and properly filed paperwork.  This wasn't pastel-pink thigh-highs and floral print heels.  This was the John that hadn't blinked twice the first time he'd gotten a good look what was left of Bane's face, who laughed at humor so dark and bleak that even Bane wasn't sure it couldn't be considered schadenfreude.  
  
Everything that Bane had seen and known about John that had never made sense, suddenly snapped into perspective.  He felt like he had spent all week blindfolded on the edge of a cliff, trying to convince himself he could fly, only to step off and discover that it had been a five-inch curb the whole time.  
  
"Are you inviting me to search you, Lieutenant Blake?"  He let the glare from the light over the sink catch on the side of his face, making it look grotesque and pitted, highlighting the horror of it all.  If John liked horror, Bane could do horror.  
  
John continued to hold his gaze from across the room, his eyes bright.  "I do believe I am."  
  
"Very well."  Bane stepped forward, letting the gloom swallow his features.  "Please take off your shoes."  
  
John licked his lips and nodded, then crouched down to comply.  
  
Bane watched him slip out of his shoes, place them neatly on the desk.  
  
"Jacket.  Shirt."  
  
John hung his suit coat over the chair and loosened his tie.  He was nice with his things.  Not fastidious, but careful.  He pulled his shoes off instead of toeing out of them and he looped his tie careful across the shoulders of his jacket so it wouldn't get creased.  His button-up got carefully folded, his undershirt did not.  
  
It felt indulgent to be able to watch this time, to let his gaze linger on the curve of John's neck and the line of his shoulders.  The shadows played across John's chest as he bent slightly to unbutton the french fly on the inside of his waistband and it made Bane almost wish for the bright lights of the hotel room again, where all of John had been illuminated and on display.  Except that the dark was nice too.  The dark made it seem less real and like maybe this was something he could keep.  
  
John let his pants slip down slowly over his hips and onto the floor, then stepped out of them and bent to pick them up.  Bane had thought it strange that he had kept his socks on after taking off his shoes, but now he could see that he hadn't.  What had looked like thin dress socks were in fact black thigh-high stockings, held up by a lace garterbelt hidden just below the waistline of his pants.  The panties he had chosen were purple and low-cut, so dark against his pale skin that it almost looked like a bruise and cut so low on his hips that they didn't so much cover his cock as present it.  He had shaved, all the way up his legs and then further, so that there was nothing but skin and silk, his cock already half-hard and distending the fabric, rubbing up against the lace.  
  
John's hands went to the stays of his stockings.  
  
"No."  Bane stopped him.  "Keep those on."  
  
He kept a small pen light on his keyring and had already taken it out of his pocket, removing it from the fob as he stepped closer.   "I would hate to infringe on your modesty.  Arms up."  
  
John lifted his arms, palms open and out, showing his hands.  Bane clicked on the pen light and began his inspection, running the light down John's chest, circling, not touching.  He came around to the front again and brought the light up to John's face, deliberately shining it in his eyes so that he had to squint and look away.  
  
"Open."  
  
John opened his mouth.  
  
Bane thought about kissing him then, thought about dropping the pretense, turning on the overhead light and kissing John like he'd been wanting to since that first day when he had shaken his hand in the parking lot.  
  
But that was not the game they were playing.  
  
Bane stepped back and clicked off the light.  "Very good, Lieutenant.  Please turn around, you may brace yourself if you need to."  
  
John backed up all the way to the bed.  Planting his feet shoulder width apart, he turned around and bent at the waist, resting his elbows against the bedspread and burying his head in his arms.  
  
John had a very nice ass.  Round, and pale, it looked very good in lace.  
  
Bane took out the penlight again, pressing the cool metal end of it to the small of John's back and running it down his lower spine to the waistline of his panties.  He pulled at the lace lightly, then released it, letting it snap back against John's skin.  
  
John took the hint, hurrying to pull the underwear down.  He started to pull his hands back, but Bane stopped him, not touching or speaking, just pinning John's hand where it was, holding it there with the penlight.  John shifted against the mattress, his face pressed into the sheets with his weight resting on his shoulders, then brought his hands up again and hesitantly pulled his cheeks apart.  
  
Bane grunted approvingly.  
  
He could hear John, breathing hard.  He his legs were shaking slightly and his erection bobbed in the air between his legs, untouched.  His whole body jumped when Bane touched him with the penlight again, placing it just where he had before, on John's lower spine and running it down John's back to where John was spreading himself open for him.  He let the penlight run all the way down John's crack and across his perineum until John shivered and jumped as it brushed against his balls, then brought it up again, to rest against his hole.  
  
He pressed in slightly.  
  
The penlight was small and slender, not even as wide around as Bane's pinky.  John whined softly as it disappeared inside of him.  
  
"What do you want John?"  Bane pressed in, just a little bit more and John twitched, his fingers tightening against his asscheeks.  It wasn't in very far, but bone-dry, without even spit as lubricant, it couldn't have been comfortable.  
  
"In the... bedside table... there's lube and condoms."  John panted, his voice muffled by the bed sheets.  
  
Bane pulled the penlight out in one quick motion, making John jump and flinch back.  He laid his hand reassuringly across John's lower back, letting it lie there for a second, warming his skin.  John sighed and relaxed into the touch, his hips tilting upwards as the tension eased out of him.  It was the first time they had touched, skin to skin, since shaking hands five days earlier in the parking lot.  
  
Bane discovered that he liked touching, liked it very much.  He found the lube in the bedside table along with condoms, a vibrator and a decent sized dildo that he briefly considered using instead of his fingers to get John ready.  It would have been more in line with the fantasy that they were playing out.  Touch was humanizing and what John seemed to want was very... not that.  But Bane was feeling just selfish enough to decide that if he was only going to get to fuck John once, then he wanted to touch.  
  
If John prefered otherwise, he didn't say.  
  
John moaned as he pushed back against Bane's fingers, holding himself open.  He looked desperate for it, pressing bruises into his own skin while his cock leaked all over the lace underwear that was still caught around his thighs, tangled in the stays of his garter belt.  Bane scissored him open, kicking John's legs further apart to get better access and then, just because he could and might not get to again, leaned down, pressing his face into John's pale, pink ass, and licked into him.  
  
The response was immediate.  John sobbed into the sheets, his knees buckling so that Bane had to catch him around the middle and hold him up.  "Please... please... please."  John rocked his hips back, crying as Bane pulled away and rising up onto his toes, trying to force Bane's fingers in deeper.  
  
"Tell me what you want, John."  Bane circled John's prostate slowly with his index finger.  He could feel John's cock, brushing against the back of his hand as it bobbed in the air.  
  
"I want your cock.  Please, Bane, fuck me with your cock."  
  
"Hmm..."  Bane grunted his approval, carefully removing his fingers, then, without giving John time to think or readjust, picked him up and flipped him onto his back.  
  
Stripping out of his shirt in one smooth motion, Bane unbuckled his belt and pulled his pants down around his thighs, letting the light from the bedside lamp catch on his muscles, his scars, his dick.  He held John down by his hips, feeling the slenderness of them and allowing John a moment to take in his new position, to feel the size of Bane, looming over him.  
  
Then, reaching into his pants pocket, he took out his folding knife.  He flicked it open one handed and trailed the flat of it up John's inner thigh.  John watched him carefully, his hands twitching at his sides and his eyes narrow while Bane slid the knife under the dark purple fabric that had tangled around his thighs and slowly cut the underwear off of him.  
  
He leaned down to take the head of John's cock into his mouth and felt it jump against his tongue.  Sucking once, he pulled off and then refolded the knife and put it back in his pocket.  
  
After that things started to go a bit sideways.  
  
Bane's plan up until that point had been to throw John's legs over his shoulder and fuck him into mattress until he couldn't see straight and then put his shirt back on and leave.  John didn't seem to have gotten the memo.  
  
In Bane's defense, John's plan involved John being much more flexible than Bane had thought possible and much more open to kissing than Bane had deemed likely.  As soon as Bane was inside of him, John pulled Bane down on top of him, folding himself practically in half so that he could run his hands over Bane's close-cropped hair and bite at his bottom lip, sucking Bane's tongue into his mouth and kissing him like it was important.  
  
So distracted by the revelation of his tongue in John's mouth and his dick in John's ass and John touching him, Bane didn't even notice how John managed to find the leverage to flip them until it had already happened.  But by then it didn't matter because John was riding him, taking him in long, deep strokes, running his hands across Bane's chest and bringing Bane's hands up to help guide his hips, asking to be touched.  
  
John closed his eyes when he came, grimacing as if it were painful and squeezing down on Bane's cock, rocking his hips in quick, sharp thrusts until Bane came as well.  Then he sagged forward tiredly, kissing Bane as he pulled off and collapsed onto his side.  His mouth tasted like sweat and his hair was damp where it brushed against Bane's cheek.  
  
A few seconds passed where neither of them moved, then John sighed, deep and contented and nudged Bane with his stockinged foot.  "Take your boots off, before you fall asleep."  
  
Bane turned his head to look at John in the dim light, trying to assess the situation.  John looked happy, relaxed.  He had his eyes closed and was smiling softly, trailing one hand across Bane's chest, and rubbing slow circles over one of the scars there.  Then, wrinkling his nose, he squirmed against the blankets like he had an itch and reached down to the eyelet fastenings on the front of his garter belt.  "I'm sorry, but this has just got to come off.  So: brace yourself for some really unattractive razor burn."  
  
John peeled off the stockings and tossed them off the side of the bed.  He hadn't been lying, there was a big red rash down one of his legs and a few spots where he had obviously nicked himself on the back of his thigh.  He leaned over to grab a box of tissues and a tube of aloe-vera skin cream off his bedside table, passing the tissues to Bane and uncapping the skin cream to start rubbing it into the worst of his razor burn.  
  
"I was in a bit of a rush."  John said, shaking his head self-deprecating.  "I probably could have shaved my legs earlier, but I didn't want to bother unless I knew you were coming."  
  
Bane still hadn't moved.  After a few more seconds of being unresponsive, John quirked an eyebrow over at him, questioningly.  He glanced down at where Bane had yet to even remove the condom.  "Everything okay?"  
  
Bane nodded, shaking himself out of his stupor and sitting up, tying off the condom and tossing it into the trash.  He cleaned himself up with a tissue and then glanced over at John again before, coming to a split second decision, starting to take off his boots.  
  
As he kicked out of his pants and pushed himself more fully up onto the bed, a thought occurred to him.  "Do you even like the underwear?"  He asked.  
  
John squinted for a second in consideration, then shrugged.  "I don't mind it.  Those pictures of me that are floating around the internet are from way back in high school.  I used to be on the swim team and would shave my legs for meets.  The lingerie and the heels were just something my boyfriend and I got up to one time, I never thought it would follow me around for this long but I guess there are worse things."  
  
"In high school?"  
  
"Don't worry, I was no sweet innocent." John snorted, "I got held back a year and didn't graduate till I was nineteen.  Which, honestly, is part of why it's so damn hard to get the photos taken down; I wasn't even a minor."  
  
Bane brought his hand over to rest on John's knee.  John let his legs fall open and Bane ran his thumb across the smooth skin of his inner thigh.  "Then why this?  Tonight and all week?"  
  
John capped the lotion and put it back down on the bedside table, flicking off the light.  He leaned back against the pillows and hooked one of his legs around Bane's to bring them closer.  "You seemed into it and I didn't mind.  I guess if you want me to wear women's underwear on a regular basis, we might have to shop around for something that my dick won't immediately fall out of everytime I so much as break into a particularly brisk walk."  
  
"Hmm..."  Bane traced the edges of a pink patch of razor burn on the side of John's knee.  "I liked how you looked that first day too."  
  
"Oh really, you'd fuck me with hairy legs and my ratty-ass underwear?  I should warn you, I am wearing contacts right now.  My regular nightly routine involves glasses and a mouthguard."  
  
Bane raised an eyebrow.  "A mouthguard?"  
  
"I grind my teeth at night.  It's a stress thing."  
  
Bane pulled John over on top of him, tangling their legs together and pressing his face into John's neck, biting lightly at his shoulder.  "I want to fuck you through your ripped up Calvin Kleins while you moan around your mouthguard."  
  
John snorted, "Well, if you stick around long enough, you will definitely get your opportunity."  
  
Bane bit him again and kissed his jaw, then reached around to pull the blankets over them against the cool air coming in through the window.  This was good.  Not what he had expected, not what he had thought, not even really anything he recognized, but something.  Something worth sticking around long enough to see if it would still be there in the harsh light of day.  
  
Bane was just on the verge of drifting off to sleep when John spoke again.  "Bane?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I have..."  John cleared his throat uncomfortably.  "Trust and intimacy issues.  So, just to be completely clear, if you're still here when I wake up in the morning, I'm going to assume we're dating."  
  
"Hmm."  Bane grunted in agreement.  
  
When he woke up a few hours later, tired but too accustomed to always getting an early start to completely sleep through the morning, John was still there.  He must have gotten up at some point because the light over the sink was off and he had put in his mouthguard.  Passed out against Bane's chest, his mouth was slightly open and his hair was stuck to his face where it fell down over his forehead.  
  
Bane smiled to himself, readjusting the blankets around them and pulling his hand out from where it was pinned under John's shoulder, then turned his face away from the sun, which was already shining in through the open window, and went back to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see the underwear, I collected some photos together [here](https://78.media.tumblr.com/48bd3bca442c3f730d00dc0aa7f8657e/tumblr_p9dtslCvBc1w76zb0o1_540.jpg).


End file.
